


He's gone

by justholdinghands



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justholdinghands/pseuds/justholdinghands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David leaves for his tour in Europe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. he's gone

He’s gone. The milk in her boiling hot tea isn’t diluted yet, so she makes her cup dance in her hand and takes a sip when the liquid finally has the good shade of brown. It’s still cold in New-York, even more when you’re up in the sky. She watches Manhattan waking up from his balcony. The joggers running around the reservoir. The screams of a group of noisy students she can hear even from the 19th floor. A well dressed and hurried businessman judging them. There’re all here, like every morning, but he’s not. He’s gone and she’s just realized it.

He told her she could stay here as long as she wanted to. She said she’d rather live in her hotel room when he’s not here, but this morning, she changes her mind. She’s not even sure to know where her hotel is, and his plants need to be watered anyway. Everything here makes her think about him, and in some way, it’s comforting. Painful but comforting. His dirty sneakers resting the heels on the floor and the tip against the wall for some reasons she’d never understood. His thin black tie he’d forgotten to pack loosely resting on his couch. And Brick, sleeping in his basket. Téa is supposed to come and pick him up in a few hours, but maybe she will ask her to let him stay. She could use his sweet company when she’s not working. She doesn’t want to change anything. Maybe she will just fill his fridge with more meat. That’s it, she thinks.

It’s still early, and even after her tea, she’s still sleepy. She’s not expected anywhere before noon, so she decides to take a few hours of extra-sleep. His bedroom is submerged in darkness. She didn’t open the window when she got up, and the smell of his cologne and the scent of their last sexing fill her nostrils. She knows it’s wrong and a bit dirty, but she probably won’t change the sheets until he comes back. His smell is always the first thing she misses when he’s not with her, and she wants to sleep and wrap herself in it as long as possible. He left a few hours before she wakes up, his pillow still has the shape of his head. She wishes he’d had woken her up, so she could have kissed him one last time, but she knows he hates saying goodbye. He’d probably kissed her anyway, but she was too deeply asleep to feel it.

She slips under the sheets, her hand pressing on the little wet spot he made her create last night. In any other circumstances, she would have been disgusted. It makes her smile, and thinks about their last night of love.

-

_When he came back in his apartment, he said “put a nice dress on, I’m taking you out.” An hour later, she was stunning in a black dress and high heels. She’d smoothed her hair the way he likes it, giving her a fancy but casual look. Just a bit of makeup on her face, and a cleavage deep enough to keep him guessing. He was very handsome too, in his black suit, white shirt and black tie. She loves him in a suit, even if it always makes her want to tear it up. She didn’t, and they left the apartment._

_He was very emotional during the dinner. He lingered his silent gazes and stroked her hands very often. He told her she was beautiful so many times she couldn’t count, and more times that he was going to miss her a lot. Living together for almost a month, in his own apartment was new to them, and obviously, it strengthened his feelings and made their goodbyes more difficult. After the desert, he rested his cheek in his palm and stared at her._

_“What?” she said._

_“I love you.” He said._

_She smiled and took his hand to make him stand up. If they stayed here one more minute, she would burst into tears and that wasn’t the plan. She rarely allows herself to appear weak in front of anyone, and especially in front of him. He’d always been the one who shows his emotions while she keeps_ _swallowing them down. She thought she should work on that. Later. For now, she let him hold her tight while they waited for their cab, and if there was a small wet stain on his shirt, it was because he spilled a drop of white wine. Not because she shed a tear in his arms._

_There were times when he couldn’t wait to be inside his apartment, and he would screw her hard in the hallway, not giving two fucks about his neighbors. Last night wasn’t that kind of time. He was all sweet and soft and chivalrous. He opened the doors for her and she couldn’t remember one time he looked at her cleavage instead of her eyes. This was a new version of David Duchovny. The one that she rarely sees. The last time was last year, when they wrapped the last episode of the X-Files and he cried in her arms inside their tent. They knew those few months of filming together had changed their relationship forever and the last few weeks did too. They understood they were ready to make the final step. Living together had never been a serious project, but last week, they started to talk about it. Seriously, this time. It couldn’t be before a few years, David wanted to wait for Miller to be graduated. And then he could move to London. It would be just for a few months a year, first. When he isn’t working. And they could match their filming schedules as much as possible. If they’re lucky enough, they would still do the X-Files and spend a few months a year in Vancouver or anywhere else. It could work._

_She liked this emotional version of David, but when they crossed the front door, she wished he’d pined her against the wall and tore her dress. He didn’t. He asked if she wanted to drink something. She shook her head no. He asked if she wanted to listen to music. She shook her head no. He asked if she wanted to go to bed. She grinned and nodded._

_Once in the bedroom, he unzipped the back of her dress slowly and put soft kisses on her neck and shoulders. His gestures were sweet and slow. Her sleeves slipped along the soft skin of her arms until she finally could get rid of the top of her dress. It was probably just now that he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra because he growled in her ear, and she felt him hardening against the small of her back. She tried to turn around to face him, but he stood her still, gently but firmly, his hands gripping at her waist. His mouth travelled from side to side of her neck, biting, licking and kissing the flesh. Her nipples craved for his hands, but he avoided her breast and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Unconsciously, she turned her head and he put a hand on her cheek and kissed her. She slipped her tongue hungrily in his mouth first, but he smoothed her and she relaxed. It was tender and delicate, their lips caressing each other, the tip of his tongue gently chasing hers in her mouth. Slowly, she turned around, not breaking the kiss for even a second, and he moaned when he felt her breasts on his chest. She released the pressure in her nipples on the cotton fabric of his shirt. He was fully erect against her belly and she could feel the sign of her own arousal already gathered between her folds. He pushed her dress down, and the material felt at her ankle, leaving her exposed in only her black panties._

_“Lay down.” he whispered._

_Her mind was too fuzzy to protest, so she obeyed and walked on her weak legs towards the bed. He stood still, watching her move half naked, and waited for her to be comfortable.  She could smell her own arousal and watched him freeing himself. Staring intensely at her, he removed his tie and jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and took off his pants, boxers and socks. She bit the side of her lower lip, and it was when he walked to join her on the bed that she realized her pelvis was thrusting into space. Every time she sees him fully naked like this, she’s amazed of how good he looks. The muscles of his chest and stomach were sharp and hard, the fine line of his hip bones deliciously moving at each step, his cock hard and straight that made her want to take it in her mouth._

_He crawled onto the sheets from the bottom of the bed, spreading her legs to allow his head. He stopped over her panties and took a deep breath, avoiding to touch her. She hummed her frustration. Her underwear was hot and soaked and her clit ached for his touch. He had barely touched her and she couldn’t think straight anymore._

_“David,” she sighed._

_It was the only word she managed to form, with “please,” but it was useless. He just put a soft kiss over the jewel of her navel. The mixed sensation of the cool metal pressed on her skin, and his hot breath made her shiver. His tongue left a wet trail from her bellybutton to the bottom-line of her breast. She ran her fingers in his hair, gently pushing his head down. He looked at her and they smiled at each other. She’d made herself clear enough to make him understand her needs. He took another breath over her panties, this time pressing on her clit with his nose and she gasped, thrusting her pelvis up to increase the sensation. He finally removed her underwear, and she couldn’t resist touching her breasts. He watched her pinching her nipples before burying his head between her thighs. She growled when the tip of his tongue found her throbbing clit and pinched her over-sensitive nipples harder. He quickly, too quickly gave up on her clit to lap her juices at her entrance. She moaned her frustration, withdrawing her fingers on her breasts to grab his head and pulled him closer to where she needed him the most._

_“God, David! Please.” she gasped._

_She hated when he reduced her to beg him. Or she loved it. She wasn’t sure of anything when his tongue was moving between her walls. He left his tongue inside her, penetrating her with it, but pressed his thumb on her clit so hard it made her back arch, her toes curl and her fists clench around the sheet. A loud and un-feminine grunt invaded_ _her throat, and she let escape a scream when he started to circle her swollen bundle of nerves. His tongue inside her felt amazing, the tip of it swirled on her upper wall and circled her entrance before pushing as deep as possible inside her. He did it again and again, with his thumb pressing on her clit. She felt the heat of her orgasm grow in her groin, but it was too soon. She didn’t want to come this way. Not tonight. Not without him. With a last sensible though, she removed his finger and opened her eyes to look at him._

_“I want you… Inside me… Now.” she managed to pant._

_He withdrew his tongue. His chin was glowing with her juices and he wiped them with the back of his hand._

_“You’re so beautiful. And you taste so good.” he whispered._

_She felt her clit pulse with his words and she suddenly needed to taste herself. She brought his head closer to kiss him, her tongue tracing his lips before entering inside his mouth. Once again, she kissed him hard first, but he slowed her down and she abandoned herself and melt into his tenderness._

_He took his cock in his hand, and in an agonizingly slow move, he pushed inside her. She stopped kissing him for a second, her lips staying still on his, waiting for him to be fully inside her. When she felt the tickle of his pubic hair on her clit, she moaned loudly, and started to kiss_ _him again. Their lips and tongues caressed each other in a delicious mess, between gasps and pants. His thrusts were slow and deep, he almost pulled out completely before thrusting deep inside her, and pulled out again. It felt amazing, every inch of his thick cock filling her perfectly, his head pressing against her cervix for a few seconds before sliding out in her wetness. It felt amazing, but she couldn’t come if he didn’t speed up. Just a little bit, she thought. She knew him so well. She knew he was trying to make her sweet love before he left. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. How much her cared for_ _her, and it was not just about sex between them. Not anymore. But it’s been a few years now that she’d understood that, and he no longer had anything to prove. She knew he loved her. He knew she loved him. Now, can you fuck me? she thought._

_“David… Harder…” she urged him._

_He bit at her bottom lip and threw a hard thrust._

_“Yes!” she screamed. “Yes, like that.”_

_He did it again. Pulled out almost completely and pushed hard inside her. Her back arched beneath him at each thrust and her nails sink into the flesh of his back. Once again, it felt like heaven, but she_ _needed more._

_“Harder… Please, David…” Hard thrust. “God! Harder… Faster.” Hard thrust. “Fuck! Just fuck me!” Hard Thrust. Grunt. “Just fuck me hard,” she sighed._

_He stopped to look at her. His face and neck were flushed and sweaty, and the veins on his temples the sign he was close already. He took a deep breath and raised on his knees, still deeply buried inside her. Leaning on his fists on each side of her, he started to pound inside her. Her moans and “yeah,” were the only sounds filling the room, with the wet noise of her pussy and the flesh of their thighs slamming against each other. The muscles of his arms were tensed, a long vein pulsing from his wrist to his elbow. His chest and abs were contracted, and she kneaded the hard muscles of his ass, feeling them stiffen beneath her palms at each thrust._

_“God, yeah! Don’t stop!” she moaned._

_“You’re gonna come, baby?” he grunted._

_“Yeah,” she sighed._

_“Come for me, babe. I’m fucking you… so hard, right now. Come for me.” When he starts to talk dirty, she knows he won’t last long, and she was really_ _close too. His words were like direct punches on her clit. “You like that? You like when I fuck you hard?” He didn’t expect any answer. He knew she liked it, so she just sighed loudly. “God, you feel so…. Good! You’re so wet… And so tight. Oh! Fuck! I can feel you!” he screamed when her inner muscles started to clench around him._

_She gripped at his cock tightly, and he thrusted again when her muscles released him. She started to come, and he was still fucking her hard, waiting the very last moment to release his hot semen inside her. They both screamed in unison, their back arched and their fists clenched. She couldn’t control her body anymore, and let the swell of her walls milk and absorb his orgasm._

_-_

She suddenly realizes that her middle finger is inside her and her other hand touching her breast under her t-shirt. Maybe staying here will make things harder, she thinks. Maybe she should move to her hotel room, so she would stop thinking about him. But maybe she doesn’t want to stop thinking about him. Painful but comforting, she thinks. She wonders how spending only two weeks apart could be so unbearable while they’ve always been able to spend months without seeing each other. How comes that their goodbyes become harder every time? Even when it’s just for fifteen days. He’s gone, and he’s not here to watch her cry thinking that in a month, she will be back in London and won’t see him for a while. He’s gone, but he’ll be back soon, she thinks before she drifts off, her head resting on his pillow.


	2. He's back - part one

When he pushes the door of his apartment on this late afternoon, he’s surprised to be welcomed by the yapping of his dog. Brick was supposed to stay with Téa the time he was in Europe, but seeing the mess in his living room, he quickly understands what happened. Small sneakers are mixed with high heels at the feet of the couch, a black dress hangs on the armchair and a stack of dirty dishes are threatening to fall into the sink. In any other occasions, he would be pissed off. If it was West or Miller, he would have punished them and make them clean the whole house for leaving such a mess behind them. Actually, he’s just happy to know she’d decided to stay at his apartment during his tour. It feels good to be back home, and even better to know she’d made herself home. In some way, he feels reassured when he sees her girly cosmetics in his bathroom and her toothbrush next to his.

He thinks about calling her to let her know he’s back. He’d told her he’d land today, but he didn’t tell at what time. Maybe he should take this occasion to surprise her. He decides to switch off his phone for a couple hours, just the time to take a shower and a little nap. She hadn’t made the bed this morning, and the sheets smell like her. That’s when he wraps himself into her scent of Jasmin that he realizes he sees her again in a few hours. They’re used to spend time away from each other. It’s not the first time, and it’s not the last, but oddly, he feels that it was harder than ever. Two weeks ago, he secretly cried on the plane to Glasgow. It never happened before, and it was just the first time of many others during his tour. After every concert, when the adrenaline of going on stage slowly vanished from his blood, he collapsed onto the bed of his lonely hotel room and shed tears on his pillow that smelt nothing. Every time he hung up with her, he felt his throat tightening. He still doesn’t understand why it happened while they’ve just been apart for two weeks, and not months like they’re used to, but when he rests his head on his pillow and smells her shampoo he wishes he won’t have to leave her again in a few weeks. First, because he loves her and simply wants to be with her, but also because he doesn’t want to feel this again. This sadness. This emptiness. It took him half a century, but now he understands what it feels like being just a half of a human being. His happiness depends on his other half, and he can’t wait to hold her in his arms again. To feel her skin against his. To tell her how much he missed her and whisper words of love in her ear while he makes her come beneath him.

With the jetlag, he knows he could sleep for hours, but that’s not the plan. He sets his alarm clock to wake up in an hour before drifting off.

-

He manages to enter the theater pretty much unnoticed. He just had to take a few pictures with fans and sign two or three autographs, but now that he’s sitting on the last row, no one comes to bother him. The lights shut down, and she appears a few minutes later, stunning in her beige suit. After all those years, he’s probably the only one able to understand her emotions through the tone of her voice. No one in the theater would notice, but as she starts to say her lines, he knows there’s something wrong. He can perceive the bad vibrations emanating from her. Is it sadness? Angriness maybe? He isn’t sure. Everyone around him seems to enjoy the play while he keeps staring at her with concern. What could be wrong, he wonders. If something happened with her boys, she’d have told him. Told him… called him… his phone! Fuck! He forgot to switch it on when he woke up! He knows how inappropriate it is, and he would hate that if the girl next to him did the same, but he doesn’t care. He shifts loudly on his chair to search in the backside pocket of his jeans and unlocks his phone, probably dazzling his neighbors. Hopefully, it was in mute mode, and the dozens of text messages and missing calls appear one by one on the screen. It starts nicely. “When are you landing, sweetie?” “I’m leaving, call me when you’re here.” “Baby, if you’re married to a Frenchy now, can I keep your dog at least?” But with his lack of answer, she’d quickly interlocked the passive-aggressive mode. “Dave, can you answer me? I need to know if I should shave my legs or if I can let my hairs grow.” “Just in case you lost my number in Europe. It’s Gillian. Remember?” “I’m going on stage in half an hour and I really start to worry. Please call me.” “I hope your plane crashed somewhere and that’s why you don’t answer my call. Otherwise, you’re just an asshole.” And last but not least: “Fuck you.”

Yes. It’s stupid. But his first reflex is to call her right away. That’s only on the first ring that he realizes she stands just in front of him, and he can’t talk to her. Godammit! He wants to find a way to let her know he’s here. He can’t believe he’d let her go on stage without telling her he was back and safe. He’s such an ass, he thinks. Yes. It’s stupid. But he coughs. Loudly. He clears his throat. In the vain hope that she hears and recognizes his voice. It doesn’t work, and he just manages to piss off his neighbors even more.

At the intermission, he thinks about going backstage, but he knows she has to play again, and probably won’t be able to do it well if she sees him. Whether she’d be mad at him or relieved to see him, it’ll change her emotions and she’ll lose her concentration. So he just stays in his seat, and waits for the play to start again. Maybe she will notice his missing call. More likely, she won’t. He knows she doesn’t like to look at her phone between her scenes.

When the lights turn on and the audience stands up to ovation the cast, he quietly sneaks out of the theater and heads backstage. Thankfully, the security guy recognizes him, and he runs to her dressing room. She’d changed the decoration since the last time he went to see her. There’s more photos of him and them on her walls and desk. It makes his heart ache even more to know he wasn’t the only one moved by this separation. He notices there’s more and more Chewbacca goodies everywhere, and she’d framed the little note he’d let on the fridge when he left. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m just going out for some croissant in Paris. I won’t be long. I love you, D.”

He hears the audience scream and clap louder. She’s probably alone on stage now, getting her well-deserved standing ovation. His heart starts to pound in his chest, knowing she should be there in a minute or so.


	3. He's back - part 2

There are nights like tonight, when she thinks she doesn’t deserve a standing ovation. The audience probably didn’t notice anything, but deep down, she knows she wasn’t good. She’d forgotten a few lines, lost her accent several times and her mind went somewhere else when she was supposed to listen to her partners. It’s not entirely his fault. She knows it. She’d started this play a month ago and she’s purely and simply exhausted. But the fact that she didn’t hear about him all day didn’t help her concentration. As if her kids being across the ocean without her wasn’t enough to worry about, now she spent her time wondering if David’s plane didn’t actually crash somewhere and the last words she would have said to him were “fuck you.” For the last three hours, her mouth said the lines but her mind kept thinking about him. She went back and forth about whether he was dead or just a fucking asshole who didn’t give a shit about her. None of these thoughts were good. What if he really met someone else in Europe?

She turns on herself to bow the audience, shaking her head to get her dark thoughts away. He’d call her almost every day since he left. She’d heard the sobs in his voice, she didn’t dream it. He’d tell her so many times he loves her, she can’t count. She smiled when he told her he felt like for the first time he was the one being away from her and not her being away from him. At the end of the day, it was all the same, but she knew what he meant. She felt that way too. Maybe because she was living in his apartment and he was living in her continent. He loved her. She knew it. So why didn’t he pick up his damn phone today?

She hates when he reduces her to harass him for an answer. She’s a feminist. She wants to be strong and independent and not be the kind of woman who can’t live a second without knowing where her man is. Yet, she has only one thought when she runs to her dressing room: see if he’d call her back.

Ben comes out from the green room and leans to hug her, like every night. She obliges. Quickly. Coldly, maybe. It doesn’t matter, she’ll apologize tomorrow. The two security guys stare at her with a mischievous smile, and one of them blink at her. She raises one eyebrow and wonders what’s wrong with him. Aren’t those guys not supposed to hit on the actresses, she thinks. It doesn’t matter. She’ll make him apologize tomorrow. Finally, she pushes the door of her dressing room.

He’s here. Tall and large. Scruffy. Perfect. Just the way he was when she left him two weeks ago. His piercing eyes meet hers and with a last heavy pounding in her chest, her heart stop beating. Her breath stops too, and her knees become too weak to support her own weight. She collapses against the door, closing it loudly with her back. She looked miserable even before she entered the room. Actually, Blanche looked miserable, but that’s Gillian’s tears which are running on her cheeks right now. The room is tiny, but his legs are huge, so it takes him only two steps, to run towards her and put his hands on her waist, preventing her from falling on the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey! Gillian! You’re okay, honey?” he whispers and rests his palm on her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

She nods silently, unable to speak. Ten minutes ago, she swore to God she would kick his ass the second she would see him for not answering his phone. She wanted to make him pay for making her worry, for making her think he was dead, even if she didn’t really believe it for one second. She wanted to make him beg for her pardon and then she wanted to ride him merciless, because… well… two weeks is too long. But for some reasons, right now, she’s just able to bury her face in his large chest and let her tears flow.

She didn’t cry for those two weeks. Not even once. She knows he did, she heard his scratchy voice on the phone, but she never allowed herself to do it. Somehow, she knew she couldn’t stop if she’d started. She lived only on adrenaline, completely immersed in her play, nights and days. She lived on her own for those two weeks. No matter how many people surrounded her. When she went back to his apartment, she was alone. So she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rest. Because if she did, she knew she would never have the strength to wake up again. She knew she was exhausted, but she wasn’t aware she was on her last leg.

It’s like having him right here and right now, finally allows her to acknowledge her fatigue and let go. Finally, she has someone she can count on to support her. Finally, she’d not alone. Finally, he isn’t dead. The everyday-day-Gillian would be yelling at him right now. Exhausted-Gillian cries like a baby against him and it feels so good. All the stress and the tension go away with her tears to leave her face smile and his shirt soaked.

“I hate you,” she whispers with a slight smile.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He leans down and captures her lips between his. She can taste the salt from her tears mixed with her lipstick and the chocolate he’d probably stolen from the box on her desk. It’s a soft and chastely kiss, but his lips linger on hers and she finally opens her mouth to allow the tip of their tongue to brush.

“You okay?” he asks again and she can see the concern in his eyes.

“I am. Now, I am.” she answers.

“Look, I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s the jetlag. I took a nap, and when I woke up…” he starts to explain, but she interrupts him with her forefinger on his lips.

“You’re here. It’s fine. Now give me two minutes to change, and take me home, David. Okay?”

He nods, and releases her from his tight embrace.

- 

In the cab, she asked him to tell her everything about his tour, but she fell asleep after his landing in Glasgow. That’s actually the only thing she remembers when she suddenly wakes up, alarmed by an intrusive and cold hand inside her pants. He’d probably lifted her from the car to his bed, because she lays over the comforter, her shoes off and one sock on. She opens her eyes widely to find him trying to remove her tight black jeans without waking her up. It’s a fail. A sweet fail, but still.

“Trying to abuse me in my sleep, Duchovny?” she teases with a grin.

“Nah… I already…” he sounds like he wants to make a bad joke, but stops when her jeans pass under her knees. “What happened?” he asks, concerned, staring at the bruises she has everywhere on her legs from her knees to her ankles.

“It goes with the job,” she answers with a sad smile.

He finishes to remove her pants, slowly, and takes off her last sock. “Put that.” He hands her one of his shirt before leaving the bedroom.

She obeys, taking her shirt and bra off and putting his over-sized stripped shirt on. That’s not the kind of night reunion they are used to. Usually, it’s hotter. Wilder. It ends up with the both of them naked, sweating, panting and done. Tonight is different, but in a good way. She feels relaxed, smoothed. She feels loved.

He comes back with a grin on his face and a tube of cream in his hand.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Shhh, let me…” he says and presses on the tube. A green paste comes out on his forefinger and he carefully starts to apply the ointment on her right knee. “Good?” he asks, circling her knee with his fingertips.

“Thank you,” she nods.

“You shaved, finally.” he jokes as his free hand cups her calf.

His eyes focus on her legs, and he works softly and carefully on her bruises. She wonders why she finds it so hot. The scent of mantle from the ointment invades the bedroom, and she feels the cool sensation of the paste on her skin. He finishes at her ankles, massaging her feet and rolling each of her toes between his thumb and forefinger. He’s now kneeled on the bottom of her bed, her feet in his hands between his thighs, and she can feel the obvious sign of his arousal with the very tip of her big toe. She hadn’t noticed before, but her nipples are erect under the thin fabric of his shirt, slightly appearing through the white, almost transparent, white stripe.

“Take it off, and lay on your stomach.” he says, pointing at her shirt. “I’ll be back in a second.”

She watches him close the tube, and does as he asked, laying only in her panties over the comforter of his bed. Her face is pressed on the pillow, and it feels good to smell his scent on it again. He’d probably taken a nap here before he went at her play, she thinks.

“How many of those things are you hiding here?” she teases, watching him coming back with another unknown bottle of something.

“What? You’re gonna tell me that you didn’t even rummage through my apartment?”

“I did. And I found your diary. We need to talk about this, later, by the way.”

“Yeah, later.” he chuckles. “We’ll have a lot to talk about later. Shut up and close your eyes, now.”

She feels him kneel next to her, and soon, his warm hands rub her back, spreading a soothing massage oil all over her. The unpleasant mantle scent from earlier is replaced by a delicate flower smell. His touch is soft but firm. He makes her muscles roll under his palms, from her shoulders to her kidneys, massaging along her spine and stopping at the edge of her underwear. She would drift off if his fingers don’t venture a few times on the side of her breasts, traveling south on her ribcage while his thumbs sink deep in the flesh of her back.

Ages ago, this same man wouldn’t have given a fuck if she was tired of not. With the erection he’s sporting right now, he would have purely and simply jumped her no matter what she wanted. No matter what she needed. But this same man today just wants her to feel as good as possible. He wants her to be happy and relaxed. He wants her to know how much he cares for her, how much he loves her. If she falls asleep right now, he probably wouldn’t mind, she thinks. Actually, she was starting to dream when he suddenly stops his motions.

She hums her disapproval, but his hands quickly come back on her body. He cups her right calf, careful to avoid her bruises, and once again sink his thumbs in her flesh, going down to her ankle. He massages her foot, from the heel to the tip of her toes. She’d never feel so relaxed in her life. She wants to tell him how good it feels, but he seems to be really focused on what he’s doing, and she absolutely doesn’t want to disturb him, so she says nothing, and sighs heavily, allowing her tensed muscles to cool down.

He does the same motion on her left calf, massaging from the inside of her knee to the tip of her toes, and back on her calf. He ventures higher on her thigh. He stops at the juncture of her cheek and does the same on her other thigh. His thumbs work hard on her muscles while his fingers brushes the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. Her breathing speeds up as he approaches her pussy. She knows he can feel the heat of her wetness on his fingertips. Back on the inside of her knees, his hands go up on her thighs, deeply sink into her flesh. He stops his thumbs around her entrance, pushing on the side of her labia while his fingers cup her ass under her panties. She lets escape a soft moan, and her pelvis unconsciously pushes down against his thumbs.

“David,” she sighs.                                                                                                                  

With an agonizingly slow move, he runs her panties down her thighs, then her legs, and finally take them off. She realizes she’d missed his hands for the few seconds it took for him to remove her underwear, and another soft moan escapes when they’re back on the back of her thighs.

He runs his fingertips on the inside of her thighs, tickling her skin, leaving goosebumps behind him and stops at her crotch. With one hand, he firmly kneed one cheek, as his other hand finally touches her where she needed the most. His middle and forefinger rub against her labia. Reflexively, she arches her back just enough to allow him to find her throbbing clit, and she growls when he presses hard on it. Every time he touches her after a long period without seeing her, she feels the same way. It’s like he’d touch her for the very first time, and she knows it won’t be long until she comes. He circles her swollen clit, pressing harder and harder on it, spreading her juices, and he suddenly buries his thumb inside her.

“Oh god!” she gasps, and arches her back even more.

The mix of sensations of his hand massaging her cheek and applying a slight pressure on her anus, his thumb pushing inside her and his fingers tapping on her clit feels amazing. She doesn’t feel exhausted anymore. Her muscles aren’t sore anymore. She isn’t even sure she still has bruises on her legs. She’d never feel so good, so aroused, so alive. Yet, she wants… no… she *needs* more.

“David,” she sighs. “Come… Come inside me. Please.” she urges him, desperate to feel his cock inside her.

Obviously, her words go right to his dick. He grunts and removes his hand from her ass to free himself. With his pants and boxers at his ankles and his shirt still on, he hovers her body. He positions his legs between hers, and lets her guide him inside her, slowly, very, very slowly. He’s so hard, and she’s so tight, it takes her a few seconds to adjust to him.

“Babe, I won’t… I won’t last long.” he growls when he’s fully buried inside her.

“I know. Me neither. Make me come, David.”

He doesn’t need more than those few words to start pumping insider her. After only a few strokes, she already feels her orgasm build in her groin. She raises on her elbows and meets his thrusts half-way now. Her pelvis slightly shifts, allowing her clit to brush the mattress. She’s close, and he speeds up, one hand pressing on the small of back. He thrusts harder and deeper, and soon, her walls start to swell around him.

“Come on, babe!” he encourages her.

“Yeah,” she screams and cries out as he throws a last hard thrust, emptying himself inside her.

 -

She doesn’t have the strength to go clean herself in the bathroom. She’ll probably regret it later, but for now, it doesn’t really matter. She observes him finally removing his clothes before he joins her under the sheets.

“Come here,” he whispers, and she rests her head on his chest, possessively wrapping her arms around his waist. “You’re okay, now?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” She chuckles, finally allowing herself to get a well-deserved full night of sleep.


End file.
